Weekend was lots of bending down. Went to Wimbledon and packed up more of the house. Over twenty bags full of Polish books were designated for the skip or the Polish Parish hall. Another twenty bags of English books were set aside for some unsuspecting charity shop. On Sunday my sister, her husband and their twin daughters drove over. The girls are the cutest little monkeys alive. They are two this week, and their vocabulary now extends to ‘ello!’ ‘dada!’, ‘mammy’, and ‘fleeuughhghrrrr’, which means flower. Sabby, the more even-tempered and impish of the two, spent a good five minutes trying to tear off Steve’s beard, which she is convinced is false. Well how was she to know? Every man she has any contact with is clean-shaven! She must’ve thought he had a little something on his chin.

I realised a few months ago that I haven’t had a holiday this year, and this could explain my urges to send a global email to my company saying FUCK THE LOT OF YOU, blow a giant raspberry and wave two fingers at the board of directors, and skip out onto St Martin’s Lane with the wind in my hair and a weight off my shoulders. This scenario is becoming a regular fantasy of mine; hopefully this weekend’s trip to Chicago for two whole SF-free weeks will cure me – for a little while, at least.

Things I can’t wait to do when I get to Chicago

Ok, so at first glance none of these beat standing above the clouds in Africa, but for me they’re as good as that…

Pancake breakfast at the Lakefront Diner

Wake up for five mornings in a row without having to rush anywhere

Drink cocktails at Simon’s

Walk to the lake from the Belmont El stop. Past fine vintage clothing shops, a playground, Belmont Harbour and the boats

Record shop (I think that can be a verb) in Wicker Park, then go to Earwax or Aion for tea

See a film at the Music Box